Red Blood
by dharmaharker
Summary: Jonathan Harker discovers that that he himself has been possessed by Renfield. With Van Helsing, Seward, Holmwood and an expecting Mina, he must find and destroy a reanimated Dracula to bring the madman's soul to rest.
1. Parting Ways

My first Fanfiction, on the subject of the reanimation of Count Dracula and the possession of Jonathan Harker by a sometimes-harmless, sometimes-hostile Renfield.

* * *

><p>"<em>Master, you are stronger yet. Your time shall come, Master!"<em>

"What was that, darling?"

The Harkers strolled down the lane at a leisurely pace, hand in hand. A year had come and gone since the fateful encounter at Borgo pass, and Mina felt that her husband would never be the same. There was a facade behind his charming grin and raised brow, a secret he'd kept, a hidden anxiety. He had murmured something a moment ago, perhaps a sigh of content or some term of endearment.

"Nothing." His lowered eyes betrayed him. "…Why? What did you… what did you hear?"

"Oh, not to worry, I only thought that you called me." She smiled sweetly as if to prove her point. He beamed back, but only for a second, and turned his face away, beginning a soft monologue.

"Tell her, I need to tell her! She'll think I'm insane. Again. She's with child this time, too. I need to remove myself from the situation. I need to go far away, God forbid I hurt our child-"

His whisper suddenly became hoarse and harsh, the tone of a madman almost forgotten…

"_Congratulations, Mrs. Harker…_"

"Jonathan? Please speak up, I can't hear you."

Jonathan's face drained of its little color. He swayed as if faint, eyes wide but face determined.

"Anything I say will be held against me. Mina, I need you to go home and send for VanHelsing. I'll be staying at Seward's, and don't ask questions."

"I don't understand!"

"Please, Mina, please." His eyes pleaded. "This will be hard for you. I'm a danger to us. All of us. Don't ask me why, I can't kiss you anymore. It will be a while before our lives are normal again."

Some women would persist. How long was a while, how did he mean, what was happening? Mina, however, knew the meaning of his words. She, above all women, had heard this before. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Just send for VanHelsing. I love you."

He touched his lips, then hers, then her belly as if to say goodbye to the little soul that resided there.

"I love you, Jonathan," Mina whispered. "Whatever it is… you must be brave."

He smiled weakly as a tear rolled down his cheek. They embraced. Jonathan removed his hat and placed it on his wife's head, and turned away to walk down a long and uncertain path alone.

* * *

><p>Please review. I value your every positive, non-scurrilous opinion. Poll on my page about Jonathan, please check it out!<p> 


	2. Seward's Asylum

Jonathan climbed the steep stair to the somber Seward's asylum. A single, snow-like moth drifted listlessly from the grey sky, landing where it may have been crushed had not our hero tread carefully. The young man paused on the threshold where his last hopes resided, and taking a deep breath, swung the door open and stepped inside.

He weaved through the labyrinth of hallways, past darkened, eerie cells, and through claustrophobic stairways to a familiar office. The window was dark, and just as Jonathan considered departing directly to the doctor's apartment, he heard a cough within. He knocked. "Doctor Seward?" He leaned into the doorknob, pushing the door open. This, he discovered, had been an unfortunate mistake.

The doctor, the holy, righteous doctor, sat in the chair behind his desk, his sleeve rolled up. He held a syringe to his arm. Here, he raised his gaze to meet the eyes of his old companion, embarrassed. He removed the needle from his arm, pressing the puncture mark with gauze.

"Good evening, John."

Jonathan began to back away. "So sorry, doctor, you—you're—y-y—you're busy. I'll return another time, if you're-"

"Don't leave. Please don't leave. I'm not a leper." Jack sighed. "I've got a problem. I'm as ashamed as you are, I'm sure. No, don't look at me that way; it's my own fault. It's right you caught me. I've looked after this old place so long; I haven't anyone to look after me. I'm addicted now; I can't fall asleep without it anymore, or feel right. I loathe myself more than I ever was inclined to, I ought to wear a red 'A' for 'addict'. Look what's become of me, John." He held out his bruised, scarred forearm. Jonathan thought a moment.

"With a bit of your mercy, Doctor Seward, you'll have the company you're after."

"What could possibly surpass my confession, that you require my mercy?"

"I require your mercy for there is no other man but you who both understands the capacity of my dilemma and knew the poor madman as you did."

Seward chuckled. "I've known many a madman, most of which were poor. Only tell me which and I'll oblige and assist you."

"This was a notable madman, doctor."

"Mr. Renfield."

Jonathan nodded grimly. It was at this revelation that a common understanding was reached- for any reason that Renfield was of any concern anymore, there must be another man attatched to this concern.

"God keep you, Jonathan Harker."


	3. A New Revalation

**I have returned! Here's the next chapter. Thanks so much for being so kind and patient!**

* * *

><p>Seward rolled down his sleeve again, having said what he needed to say on the subject. There was a new, pressing dilemma, which hopefully wouldn't lend itself to his wild addiction. "You mean to tell me, then, that you've run into trouble again as we did before?"<p>

Harker traced the scar that ran his jawline with him thumb. The scar was a trophy won in Transylvania, first examined as a fresh wound in a convent in Bistritz. It had been made agonizing by bruising, too, due to blunt trauma. A shard of anything cuts deep after a long fall. "Strange trouble, like before."

"Is it truly so? I'd like to know now, you see, honest and up front, for if we need Van Helsing, I'll not tarry here anymore. I'll go to Cardiff myself and fetch him."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Jack. I've come here on suspicion alone." Jonathan's fidgeting hands rested on the back of a dark walnut chair. The wood was cool to the touch and a nervous comfort to the poor man. He glanced up at Seward, who felt like an awful host.

"Terribly sorry, Jonathan. It's been so long. Please sit down."

"Thank you."

"Now, in God's name, will you tell me what you've come to say? You implied just a moment ago that you might stay with me. You're very welcome here, but have you left Mina alone when you say the unholy danger is upon us again?"

"I couldn't stay with Mina anymore. I pray that she might understand and that she'll forgive me in time, but it was all I could do to save her. The danger is within me, Jack, I couldn't expose her to it! It pulses and writhes in my brain. Some animal is taking me over, and I can't help myself any longer. I'll do what I must to shield my wife and child."

Seward took off his spectacles and folded them, placing them on the desk in front of him. "And you believe that Renfield is to blame for this? That's impossible. He died a different man, he would never do anything to harm you."

"That's what I can't understand. You have to help me." His eyes flickered back and forth. He watched out the window, he studied the floor. Eye contact had suddenly become difficult.

"My dear friend, what can I do?"

"I'm taking a risk, Jack," Jonathan said, glancing up into the doctor's face nervously. "I haven't come here to discuss this with you."

"Just a moment, Jonathan." Seward laughed aloud. "If not, then why are you here?" His face fell upon seeing the solemnness of his companion.  
>"I must beg your confidentiality. Promise that Mina will never know."<p>

Seward nodded. "I give my word."

"I've come to commit myself."


	4. Thoughts

Jonathan's first night in the asylum was more difficult than he had imagined, but he had found it a necessary measure to protect his wife. He was surprised at how cold he felt, but it all made sense. It had been so long since he had slept in an empty bed. Since Bistritz, he thought, and shivered.

At home, Mina received a telegram, which said the following:

"Jonathan with me at asylum. I fear for his sanity. Come quickly.  
>-S"<p>

The following morning, Seward awoke to a telegram from Mina. "Her response is as quick as her wit," he said to himself, smiling as he remembered his brave and clever friend. It had been a long while since any of those present at the battle of Borgo Pass had seen the Harkers, who had shut themselves away from the world in an attempt to forget what had happened. Mina was strong and sharp as always, but Jonathan… Jonathan was different now. His heart and step were heavy. At twenty-five, his hair was beginning to grey.

"Coming.  
>-M"<p>

That was the word. "Coming." _She says what she must, and quickly, too,_ thought the doctor. He couldn't sleep, and so he pondered on the matter of Renfield. If the Good Lord had taken the poor soul into his arms, he wouldn't linger so long. He was a poor soul, and so he would be in Heaven. Without a doubt. But there was doubt! There were questions buzzing in Seward's skull! It was impossible, wasn't it? It was. There was no man on earth who occupied another man's body.

Possession was a false concept.

But was it? And Seward remembered Lucy, in her bright-eyed and lovely splendor, her spark of a smile, her golden hair. Everything about her sent one message: life. Vitality. The glowing radiance of all that was well and good. And he remembered how broken she had been, lying in that bed- her dignity taken from her, her rosy cheeks a lifeless grey. He remembered the way she looked in the graveyard-not her. A shell. The way she looked. Not she. It.

Yes. Possession was a likely theory; if Lucy's soul could be twisted and bent, so could Jonathan's.

In his cell, Jonathan watched the ceiling and thought of Mina, her dark curls, her sweet smile. For the first time, he regretted the actions taken to arrive to the present point in time. Here he was, now branded a lunatic, as the asylum was where the lunatics were. If he ever left, if it was ever safe to leave, he would be called "recovering" for the rest of his life. Recovering? From what? Wasn't he insane enough already? Did he need Renfield to help him along? Renfield! Only he knew for sure.

He had tried so hard to convince himself it wasn't so. But in the park, the moment he realized what was taking place inside of him, something snapped. He couldn't go on living with Mina while he knew. He couldn't sleep by her any longer. He was unclean.

At home, Mina woke from a slumber, the room cluttered with clothes, her suitcase by her side. The room was stifling hot. She rose, and after some hesitation, opened the window.


	5. The Blood is the Life

Seward led Jonathan down a long corridor past wooden doors with metal handles.

"Do you think this can help me?"

The doctor paused when he reached the door. "I'm not going to do anything drastic, Jonathan," he said as he laid his hand on the doorknob. "I'm just going to show you a few things and ask you some questions." With a rough turn of the wrist, he opened the door.

Immediately, Jonathan noticed that the room was freezing cold. Threadbare curtains fluttered at the barred window. In the middle of the floor, a row of covered objects was prepared at a small table.

Seward turned and locked the door. Upon studying his patient's face, he noticed that something must be wrong. Jonathan was uneasy. Disturbed. "Come along, let's sit at the table."

Jonathan followed the doctor and sat at the table, keeping his hands by his sides. "Did you say Professor Van Helsing was coming down to see us?"

"He may, if he wishes. I'm awaiting his reply." Seward gestured the table before him. "Are you ready to begin?"

Jonathan nodded gravely.

Under the first cloth was a single page, presumably torn from Seward's notepad. Scrawled messily across it in Seward's handwriting was a passage from the Bible.

"Take a look." The doctor's voice was quiet and solemn. He watched intently as Jonathan read the paper.

"Only be sure that you do not eat the blood..." Jonathan paused, clearing his throat. "For the blood is the life, and you shall not eat the life with the flesh." He frowned at Seward. "I should have expected you would be trying to provoke Renfield. You don't know what he's capable of."

"You said yourself he's done nothing to harm you, and so neither do you. I knew him well, Jonathan. He was a repentant man at the end of his life. He wouldn't harm you."

"_Doctor—doctor, I feel so ill_." The patient clenched his eyes shut tight and leaned into the table's edge. "What's happening to me?"

"Doctor," Seward said to himself. Jonathan would have called him Jack. "What is it? Describe to me exactly what you feel."

Jonathan leaned forward, seeming pale. "What I feel, I— I feel, I feel!" He struck the wooden surface with his fist. "I'm burning. Jack, what's happening to me?"

"Renfield," Seward coaxed, "tell me why you've been doing this to Mr. Harker."

Jonathan's eyes were wild, straining to hold on to his consciousness. "Dammit, I told you not to—augh!" His neck shot suddenly backwards, and Jonathan's hand flew to his head, a new light on his face. He looked back and forth brightly, then spoke in a raspy and excited voice. "_Doctor Seward. It's really you!"_

"Renfield?! Yes, it's me. I thought you would have gone home to God."

"_He wasn't ready for me yet._"

"Tell me, quickly! Why have you done this to Mr. Harker?" It was too surreal—hearing Renfield's voice spilling from Jonathan's mouth. "Don't tell me you did it for Mrs. Harker?"

"_No, doctor! You know how I loved her. I would never dream of touching a hair on her head._"

"Then why have you come in this way? Why must you scare us? Never to hurt a soul."

"_No!"_ The eyes darted back and forth, sweat trickling down the brow. This creature didn't seem at all like the young lawyer anymore. It was a scene that parodied itself, almost grotesque: the madman in such a dignified body. "_I've come to warn you, all of you._"

"Warn me? Renfield!"

He sighed a thin, strange sigh, and whispered with a grim look, "_He's dying slowly, doctor._"

"Dying? What on earth do you mean?"

Trembling, the patient closed his eyes. A different form was molding his face, shaping his countenance subtly. The eyebrows became humble, the jaw seemed sharper. His entire body began to quake.

"What are you feeling?" Seward looked intently toward his friend. "Concentrate, Jonathan!"

Suddenly, the attack was over. Jonathan stood panting, gripping the table, knuckles white. He spoke in a low growl. "What the hell have you done?"

"I've made contact with him. He's trying to help you."

"I'm different now," Jonathan groaned. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sore. I feel different all over. What happened to me?"

"Renfield said something of interest. Something of grave importance. I'm not sure whether to go on his word or not. You won't like it."

Jonathan ran his fingers through his now-damp hair, catching his breath. "Just tell me."

"He said—he said you were dying. He didn't say how or why."

Crossing the room to a large, dirty window, the disheveled patient looked outside at the Abbey on the neighboring property. His voice softened. "I'm going to pretend for now I never heard you say that. For Mina's sake."

Seward nodded.


End file.
